Beneath The Willow Tree
by apychopathsutopia
Summary: After Arnold's suicide, Gerald spends some time in his best friend's childhood bedroom, remembering. He was seeking closure, but the unexpected presence of a completed journal hardly provides that. Don't own.
1. Chapter 1

_Okay, so, two things: 1) I don't own Hey Arnold, and never will, and have come to terms with that, and 2) here's a timeline for reference when you read the story:_

 _Helga left six years ago, when they were all 23 (making the gang at the time of this story mostly 29 years old)_

 _Phil and Gertie passed away nine months after Helga left_

 _I do mention it throughout the story, but I thought I would lay it down explicitly in case there were any questions._

 _That should about cover it. I was actually listening to two songs when I started writing this: Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley and Allison Krauss, (I'm not a huge country fan, but that song is amazing, you should check it out), and Hallelujah, the Jeff Buckley version. That might give some more insight as to what exactly was going through my emotionally exhausted mind. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

"I can't believe it," Gerald Johanssen said, allowing his wife, Phoebe, to take hold of his arm. "I mean, I know it happened; I was _there_ when it happened, but I still just can't _believe_ it."

Phoebe nodded slowly, biting her lip to prevent the willing sobs from escaping her. She didn't trust herself to speak, but she knew that Gerald was having a much more difficult time than she was. He was his _best friend_ , for God's sake, and he had a front-row seat to the... He had been in a worrying state of denial ever since Valentine's Day. So many bad things had happened on that particular day in February throughout the years that most of the original gang of the fourth grade at P.S. 118 refused to celebrate it. They gave the holiday a chance, the holiday screwed them over, and they gave up.

A lot of people had given up.

Gerald looked up from his obsessively-shined shoes to survey his surroundings. Sheena and Lila were hugging each other and trying unsuccessfully not to cry. Beside them was Rhonda, who was clinging to her husband, Thad, (who was known by the gang as 'Curly'), and openly sobbing, ignoring the fact that her dress cost her thousands of dollars. Nadine was rubbing Rhonda's back, her free hand clutching Peapod Kid's, but she was clearly holding back some of her own tears to stay strong for her best friend. Stinky, Harold, and Sid were standing with their respective wives, Maria, Patty, and some girl that Gerald didn't recognize. All three of the men stood silently, not making eye contact, but secretly thinking the same miserable thought: _I can't believe he's gone_. Eugene was standing with his boyfriend, speaking to him in a low voice and holding a hand over his mouth every once in a while to stop himself from crying. Iggy, Park, and Lorenzo came together and stayed for a little while but then had to leave, and, judging by the melancholy gazes on their faces, they realized that they probably wouldn't be able to handle so many sad, crying people all at once. There was also a gang of individuals, not speaking with anybody, that nobody would've expected to come, (and Gerald didn't remember inviting them): Monkey Man, Stoop Kid, Pigeon Man, Brainy, (when he confessed his love for Helga on the day of graduation, Gerald thought that it'd be a futile attempt to invite him), and Rachel Williams. Rachel had her hands in her coat pockets and had tear-streaked cheeks but nobody went to comfort her because nobody wanted to talk to her. Gerald refused to look in her direction. After Gerald finished sweeping his eyes around, he blinked a few times, a realization washing over him. "Hey, babe? Where's Helga? Wasn't she supposed to be here?"

Phoebe took a deep breath and drew a tissue from her pocket, drying her leaking eyes. "Yes, she told me she would be able to come, but I didn't expect her to attend. I imagine she would have found... seeing him to be too painful."

"Too painful? For _her_?" Gerald asked, scoffing. "Well, I'm _sorry_ that Pataki's too weak to handle everything, but she can get over it. If the situation were reversed -" He winced as his wife leaned away from him and punched him on the arm. For such a small little thing, she was extraordinarily strong.

"Don't say things like that," she scolded angrily. "You _know_ how guilty Helga feels. You _know_ she thinks it's all her fault, and she needs support right now -"

"It's good that she thinks it's all her fault, because it _is_ all her fault," Gerald pointed out, a bit of his anger rising in him as well. "And as for support, she's not getting any from me." He took a deep breath at his wife's reprimanding glare, and folded his arms over his chest, staring absently at the closed casket in front of him. The view could've been so innocent; had this been a vampire movie, heck, it might've even been funny! But Gerald knew what was inside of there. He knew, and it killed him inside. He supposed it made sense, though; considering what happened, and _how_ he had passed, he figured the sight would've been too gruesome. Gerald feared the worst when he walked into the funeral home for the wake that morning; he didn't know if he was relieved that the casket was closed, or if he was disappointed that he couldn't even say goodbye to his face. His heart was hammering in his chest and he could hardly breath and he found that he couldn't look away.

"You don't have to do anything," Phoebe answered, drawing him from his contemplation with practiced softness. "I don't expect you to, and Helga doesn't either. And as for laying all the blame on her... well..." Phoebe swallowed, averting her eyes to stare at her shoes. "I wouldn't say it's her fault, because she was, let's say... _misguided_ -"

"She was a _bitch_ , that's what she was. I can't believe she thought he would -" he sighed, his voice trailing off. "She was blind and stupid and opinionated, like she's always been. She didn't trust him enough." He smirked, as if finding some cynical humor in the situation. "It's amazing, isn't it? To think that somebody wouldn't trust _Arnold_?"

Phoebe sighed, taking hold of her husband's arm again, and squeezing slightly to offer some mediocre sense of comfort. "It is a strange and rare phenomena, Gerald, but, as this horrible tragedy illustrates, it _is_ possible."

* * *

Gerald and Phoebe walked up the stoop to the Boarding House. It really _was_ empty this time around; no Phil and Gertie, no packs of stray animals, no complaining boarders... no Arnold. All the boarders were locked away in their respective rooms to give Arnold's closer friends space to mourn. It was appreciated, but only silently.

It was sunny when Gerald and Phoebe had made their way inside. It didn't seem appropriate; for late February, it was much too warm, and Gerald couldn't stop himself from thinking bitterly, _You should be here to see it, Arnold_ , but he knew that that way of thinking would only lead to madness. Bitterness towards death solves nothing, and, if Gerald learned anything from the past five years, it was that.

Without thinking, Gerald immediately walked towards Arnold's childhood bedroom, but he stopped short when he heard his wife ask in a quiet voice, "Gerald? Where are you going?"

He swallowed, looking over his shoulder and gazing deep in his wife's eyes, trying to tell her something without having to say it out loud. Although she clearly understood, (as she nodded and gave him a small smile), he still felt the need to say, "I'm going to Arnold's room for a little bit. I just... need to be alone right now."

Phoebe nodded. "Of course." She lifted onto her toes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Take your time. I'll be down here."

He tried to smile back at her, but his lips immediately fell into their original frown.

The Boarding House was quiet. It had been that way for a while, ever since Phil and Gertie passed away, and Arnold was... in the state that he was in. It was hard to describe what it felt like to watch Arnold deteriorate like that. He wasn't sick, and he wasn't an addict, (well... that was up for debate, depending on who you asked), and he wasn't dying. He was just slowing falling a part until he finally snapped, but there really wasn't anything anybody could do for him. Gerald had tried to keep him company whenever he could; he tried to be around as much as possible, but he had other responsibilities! He had a job, he had a business to run! As much as he loved his best friend, there were irrelevant loyalties that Gerald _had_ to tend to. Now, thinking back on what he could've done to prevent Arnold from... well, he would've done it! He would've done _anything_!

Gerald sighed, grabbing the rope to the attic and pulling it down so that the collapsible stairs stood firmly in front of him. He glanced up briefly, having difficulty bringing up the courage to actually face the now gaping hole in his heart where Arnold used to live. But he knew that he could never move on if he didn't face his loss head-on. (At least, that was what Phoebe had told him, and he knew better than to argue with his genius wife.) His feet clunked loudly on the wooden stairs, and the metal door knob felt colder than he ever remembered it feeling, but he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly entered Arnold's bedroom.

Memories from their childhood ran rampant through his brain as he looked around. It still looked more or less the same as it always had; the walls were blue, the carpet was orange and yellow, and all the books were in the exact same order. Despite the _Purdy Boy_ novels having been targeted towards children, Gerald knew that Arnold's guilty pleasure all throughout high school and college had been those stupid old mysteries. The only thing that looked even remotely different was the updated, and yet still old, computer that hadn't been touched in ages, and the fact that there was dust covering every flat surface in the room. Before Arnold began to unravel, he had always been such a neat freak; even when his grandparents never explicitly told him to, he made sure his room was spotless. His bedroom was his pride and joy; he would spend whole days cooped up in there whenever he had a real problem that he needed to solve. He would put on his jazz records and lay on his bed, watching the clouds pass by, or observing the patterns of raindrops on the glass if it were storming. Gerald had never been there for that, of course, but he knew his best friend better than anybody, (or, _most_ anybody), and he was well aware of when to leave Arnold alone and for what reason and how he would occupy his time.

Gerald sat down in the middle of the floor, crossing his legs Indian style and leaning his elbows on his knees. Looking at his feet, those memories came back, as vivid as they would have been if they happened the day before: he remembered go-kart meeting after go-kart meeting, where all the boys just ate ice cream and drank sodas and got nothing done. He remembered the sleepovers where he and Arnold would try to scare each other by telling ghost stories until they passed out, drunk off of Yahoo sodas and popcorn. He remembered countless school projects that Arnold insisted on making perfect, and watching _Evil Twin_ movies when Phil and Gertie went to sleep, and checkers every Friday night, where the two boys would compete for hours and drink Yahoo soda after Yahoo soda. With a wry smile, Gerald thought, _We drank_ so much _Yahoo soda when we were kids_.

He remembered humoring Arnold's incessant ramblings about how different Helga suddenly was back in seventh grade, compared to how she was in grade school, and he remembered the long, long chat, (that was more like a semi-violent rant), when Arnold finally confessed his rapidly developing crush on the girl. ( _"I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since seventh grade, Gerald!_ Seventh grade! _We're freshman! What's wrong with me?! I'm going out of my mind! I'm freaking out, I'm losing it! She always wants to spend time with me, and she's always laughing and making fun of me and being all nice, and she's just absolutely perfect all the time, and all I can think about it kissing her, or holding her hand, or just telling her... telling her I... oh God... I think I... dammit, Gerald, I think I love her."_ ) He remembered trying and failing to convince Arnold to just " _ask her out, man, I bet she feels the same way about you_ ," and he remembered the celebratory horror movie marathon when the two first started dating their sophomore year. He remembered hearing about the first time they ever _did the deed_ when they were seniors in high school; Arnold had called to invite Gerald over, and the second he stepped in to the room, Arnold swung the door shut behind him and said, " _I slept with her. No, wait! I_ made love _to her._ "

He remembered the solid week six years ago, after Valentine's Day, when Arnold locked himself inside his bedroom and wouldn't come out for hardly anything. He remembered practically dragging Arnold to his bed when Arnold was too drunk to walk. He remembered _trying_ to comfort a struggling and detached Arnold while Arnold clutched that stupid poetry book and sobbed until he passed out from exhaustion. He remembered watching Arnold's sleeping form every time Arnold got too bad, and praying that he would be better when he woke up, but, of course, he never was. If anything, he was worse, and he just kept getting worse.

Gerald rubbed at his eyes, forcing himself to come back to the present, which wasn't, (all things considered), much better. While the past was full of amazing and equally terrible memories, the present was... empty. Vacant. It was an awful lot like the empty room he was sitting in. He sighed, rising to his feet and walking around, trying to distract himself. His eyes landed on the red leather couch, but he immediately looked away. He used to sleep on that couch; he slept on that couch almost as much as he slept on his own bed as a kid. He walked over to Arnold's old desk, running his fingertips over the dusty tabletop, and he made a face as he wiped his hands on his black dress pants. He walked over to Arnold's bed, leaning over the mattress to study the books on the shelves, and he blinked a few times when he noticed something that... wasn't quite right.

There was a book in the middle of Arnold's _Purdy Boy_ collection, (disrupting the numerical order that Arnold had strictly followed, Gerald noted), and he hesitated before pulling it off the shelf. It was a hard-covered book that didn't have writing on it, and, upon leafing through it, he realized that it was a notebook, and, judging by the rough but somehow neat handwriting, he realized it was Arnold's.

Gerald almost thought twice about reading it; for some reason, he had it in his mind that by reading Arnold's writing, he'd be invading his privacy, but, considering the circumstances, that wasn't exactly top priority anymore.

Coming to a resolution, he sighed and sat down on Arnold's bed, opened to the first page and began reading.

* * *

 _I met Helga G. Pataki when we were three years old. I hardly remember it, (I just remember a lot of rain and a strong, new attachment to the color pink), but she liked telling me the origin story of her bow, and I liked listening. She would tell me about how her parents had forgotten her that morning, and that she had to walk to school in a storm by herself, without a rain coat or an umbrella. She told me about how lonely she felt, how neglected, how unimportant. She told me that her life had always been like that, from the very beginning._

 _But she would also tell me all about a kind, adorable, football-headed boy that protected her from the rain and made sure she was alright. She would tell me about how sweet she thought his smile was, and how much she wanted to express to him the extent of her love, but it was complicated, she said. It was always complicated with her; she dramatized everything. She made everything out to be a bigger deal than it really was. It was only fitting that she be a playwright, as well as a poet; all her drama had to go somewhere. Sometimes I felt like she lived for the drama, like her inspiration thrived from her constant burning passion. I loved her passion; it was one of my favorite things about her, which is really saying something, because I loved everything about her. I still do, and she loves me._

 _Well, she used to, anyway._

 _It happened about six years ago, but, even now, I don't really talk about her to other people. After all this time, it seems as if people have lost interest; it's not a fresh tragedy, therefore not a pressing tragedy, therefore not worth anybody else's time. I can't blame them, really. At times, I know I'm being ridiculous. I mean, holding the poetry book of a fourth grader whenever I get sad isn't exactly normal and healthy behavior. Yes, that was Helga's poetry book, the one that Gerald found on the bus way back in fourth grade, the one everybody made fun of. She apparently forgot it at my place when she came to take back all her stuff, (she did that when I wasn't home so that she didn't have to see me), and it doesn't seem like she misses it. It was a testament of her love that she would fill volumes and volumes of poetry, all dedicated to me, and it seems only fitting that she leave behind the very first. Well, maybe not the first, but the first one I ever read. It's almost like she planted it on purpose; like she was trying to make me miserable by dangling her withdrawn love in front of my face. I wouldn't put it past her. She was always slightly evil, but I love that about her. More so than I probably should._

 _Gerald's been supportive, and from the very start, too; he's my best friend, but even he told me that I've been pining for a lost love for too long. He always tells me shit like, "Arnold, man, I'm worried about you. You look like a tan-colored pipe cleaner, and you hardly ever leave the house. You can't still be hung up over Helga; it's been years!"_

 _And then, (if I was sober enough to be coherent), I'd always say something along the lines of, "Gerald, you don't understand. She was a part of me, and now she's gone." Losing Helga was like losing a limb, or like losing half of a necessary organ that I can't live without. Probably the heart; Helga was always the sort of person to go big or go home, and if she didn't seize the romantic control center of the body, she would've kicked herself for the rest of her life for not going for the gold. Sometimes I find myself wanting to hate her, but I can't bring myself to it, and the reason for that is very simple. I love her. I love her and it hurts so much that she's gone._

 _I don't know what I'm supposed to get out of writing all this shit down. I don't why I'm doing it; nobody's going to read it, and it's not like I'm going to want to look back on any of this or anything, but I found this notebook at the store, and here we are._

 _I'm Arnold Shortman, I'm twenty-nine years old, and my life is a fucking disaster. In seventh grade,_ _Helga G. Pataki, my bully from our P.S. 118 days and the peewee terror of Hillwood, had somehow battled her way to the center of my soul and hasn't let go. Not a day goes by... I've always been Helga's favorite victim, and yes, I am a victim, and I didn't stand a chance._

* * *

When Gerald came to Arnold's bedroom, he wasn't expecting anything this... revealing. He was looking for closure, not more questions, but that was Arnold for you. As unpredictable as everybody knew Helga was, the poor, dense, adventurous man always had a surprise up his sleeve. It almost made Gerald smile, but then he remembered the actual situation he was in, and he stopped the action halfway through. He sighed, rubbing the bridge between his nose and trying to put things into perspective.

He suddenly felt like, somewhere out in the world, Arnold's body was still alive. These words written by his deceased best friend were all new to Gerald and this terrible hope grew inside him that Arnold's death was all a hoax and that at any second, he'd walk through his own bedroom door. He knew this hope was ill-based, and a sick part of him wanted to burn the notebook so that it was gone forever, but he couldn't do that. He wanted nothing more than to close the book and put it on the shelf and leave. That way, there would still be some of Arnold left undiscovered, therefore meaning Arnold could possibly still be around. He wanted to squash that bit of him as soon as possible, and he felt that by reading the notebook, he was comforting the Arnold from the past. The Arnold that actually truly _was_ alive.

So, he turned to the next entry and continued to read.


	2. Chapter 2

_I still live in the Boarding House; I don't have anywhere else to go. I had aspirations when I was younger: I was going to travel the world and see Paris, Athens, London, Venice, Tokyo, Beijing, Rome, Berlin, Rio de Janeiro, Vienna, and perhaps spend some time in Bangkok just for the fun of it; I was going to save my parents and help the Green Eyed people because I was so damn sure they'd all still be alive; I wanted to be a psychologist that had an archaeological background because I could never decide which profession I liked best, and I was ambitious enough and optimistic enough to dream two dreams and hope that everything would end up okay in the end. My life seemed so bright. Everything was going so well. I never told anyone, not even Gerald, but I was thinking about proposing, and I had even perused the jewelry stores in the hopes of finding something that would shine as bright as my beloved Helga. I knew that it wasn't possible, but I had to try._

 _When Helga and I started dating in our sophomore year of high school, her and I were both terrified because we felt so very much in love with each other. The raw emotion was scary and overwhelming, but also dangerously exciting, and we had to hold onto each other if we wanted to make it out in one piece. And we promised we'd make it out together. The two of us._

 _But then Helga left, and I couldn't do... anything anymore. Grandma and Grandpa passed away about five years ago, and my parents' bodies were never recovered, so all the blood family I have left is Arnie, and he isn't much company at all. When he does come, he really likes talking about Helga, because, "After all these years, she's still the love of my life." He even had the audacity to ask me if he can ask her out on a date now that her and I aren't together anymore. I yelled at him until my throat was hoarse, and he hasn't been up to visit since._

 _Mr. Potts and the Kokoschka's still live here. I don't think they'll ever leave. Mr. Huynh suffered a heart attack and Mai wanted him to be closer to her, so he left to move in with his daughter and his son-in-law. Mrs. Kokoschka had a baby girl; she's about seven now, and she's the most irritating human being I've ever met. She runs around everywhere, and she's always screaming and trying to steal from the other boarders' rooms and she has this long, drawn-out voice that just... it just gets on my nerves. Mr. Smith came back for a while, but then he left again, doing God knows what. A few others have come and gone, too, but they were never really memorable, so I don't remember them._

 _I don't really talk to many of the boarders. Sure, I'll have a few drinks with Mr. Potts here and there; he was always one of my favorites and he doesn't pry. Besides, sometimes it's nice to be in the company of someone who doesn't ask too many questions._

 _It was about four years ago, on the anniversary of the day Helga left. I'd lived for two whole years without Helga; I thought I was going to shrivel into myself until I imploded, but that never happened. Instead, I bought the largest bottle of whiskey I could find at the liquor outlet, and I drank. And drank. I poured whiskey down my throat like it was water, but it wasn't. I couldn't see straight; I couldn't sit up straight; I couldn't think straight. But I had my memory. Thank God I had my memory; I wouldn't want to forget about Helga at all. I mean, wallowing in my self pity is so much fun. I was having a blast; I was so thankful that I hadn't blacked out yet._

 _Jesus fucking Christ._

 _I had started drinking when I heard the last boarder's door close for the night, but I didn't realize that Mr. Potts was finishing up some paper work at the office. Recent demolition, super controversial. Something like that; I don't care. But I was laying on the couch in the living room, my knees pulled up to my chest, Helga's pink poetry book pressed to my heart, and I was sobbing. Why I wasn't in my bedroom would be a damn good question; I'm pretty sure I just took a gulp from the bottle and got lost in the feeling and didn't have it in me to move. My inebriation had impaired my hearing; I didn't even know I was making a sound until I saw the door to the living room open._

 _"Arnold?" Mr. Potts said in a quiet voice. I could tell he was trying to be nice and helpful, because I had always been nice and helpful to him, but I didn't need it. I needed him to go away._

 _I sat up abruptly, my head almost vibrating at my own sudden motion and I glared at him as hard as I could. I didn't even bother to wipe the whiskey from my lips. "What the fuck do you want, Ernie?" my voice slurred._

 _Mr. Potts walked towards me, glancing at the bottle in my hand before looking back up at me. He kept looking and looking at me, this weird calculating expression on his face, and I didn't want to spend the rest of my night having a staring contest with a three-foot-tall construction worker that didn't know what the hell he was doing with his life. But before I could cuss him out again, he just said, "Need a drinking buddy?"_

 _It took me a second to react, because nobody had ever asked me that before. "What?"_

 _Mr. Potts sat down beside me, taking the bottle out of my delayed hands and gulping a deep swig. "Long day. I need this."_

 _"No, I  need this," I growled, taking the bottle back from him, tilting my head back and letting the liquid burn its way down my throat._

 _We were silent for a moment, before Mr. Potts said, "This about Helga?"_

 _The second I heard her name, I felt a sob build up in my throat, but I swallowed it down with another drink. I pulled my legs into myself again, leaned my head against the couch and said, "It's none of your goddamn business whatever... whatever the fuck is happening and going on isn't any of your business... god damn, this shit burns..." I took another drink, despite my words. "I don't want you... I don't want your fucking... fucking pity..." I groaned, resting the lip of the bottle against my mouth. "Just go away." I burrowed myself farther into the back of the couch, gathering the book to my chest a little tighter. _

_Mr. Potts' voice was nonchalant and indifferent; if a shrug made a noise, it was this one word coming from his mouth: "Okay."_

 _I was never used to people relenting that fast. Usually with Gerald, I had to fight him to leave me alone and even then, he would lock up the alcohol and steal my car keys. I quirked my head at him, blinking stupidly as I said, "Okay?"_

 _Mr. Potts shrugged. "Yeah, sure, whatever. I'll leave you alone. Just don't hog the bottle."_

 _And that conversation was the only one him and I shared that night. That I can remember, of course; I'm pretty sure he dragged me into my bedroom because I woke up the next day in my clothes on top of the covers with the curtains closed._

* * *

Gerald bit his lip and turned the page.

* * *

 _I do have my calm, placid, aware moments. I almost always write about the thoughts that fly through my mind when I'm drunk, but I'm not constantly intoxicated, as many of the people around me seem to think. As a born optimist and logician, I occasionally find myself observing my conflicts from a more diplomatic perspective. My girlfriend broke up with me. It happens. People break up with other people, for one reason or another, and it shouldn't stick with you after six years. There is a period where healing must begin._

 _Unless, of course, true love is involved, w_ _hich is why I often find myself drunk._ _This is why I've been fighting the urge to drink this bottle of whiskey I'm staring at right now. I'm on the brink, I'm on the edge, I can feel it. I need Gerald, but the brink is so close that there's another side of me that wants nobody's help. I want to succumb, but I want to survive. I want the pain to stop forever, but I want it to be replaced with joy. I want to die, but I want to live to see if Helga ever comes back to me. Pathetic, I know, but you don't understand: we belonged to each other. I do not write those words lightly. I gave my entire soul to Helga G. Pataki, and she's kept it and won't give it back._

 _And that's why I drink. And that's why I'm going to keep drinking. The whiskey may briefly externalize my pain, but it will dull eventually, and then I can sleep._

* * *

When Gerald turned the page, he was surprised at how short the next entry was; it seemed to have been written on two separate occasions, judging by the sudden change in ink color from blue to black. The change was emphasized by the harshness in which he had clearly written on the latter entry; there were clear dents in the paper, that he later noticed imprinted on the opposite side of the page.

But, although that was the first thing he noticed, it was most certainly not the most alarming.

* * *

 _I'm fine. I'm doing just fine. I don't need help. I don't need Gerald, or Phoebe, or whoever the fuck else comes to 'check on me.' I don't need them, because I'm fine and I'm doing just fine. I know I am. I'm probably better off, anyhow. Without her, I mean. I mean, she wasn't physically a part of me; I can live without her, right? I'm fine._

 ** _fuck what i wrote yesterday i'm doing fucking terrible_**

 ** _i can't breath without her i just want to hold her again and i_** (Through aching eyes, Gerald blinked, squinting at the words, hoping that some of the scrawled letters would become legible enough for him to understand.)

 ** _i need help please just someone help me_**

* * *

Gerald felt an odd sense of irritation wash over him, and he balled his free hand into a tight fist, shooting a glare at the wall across from him. "Why the _hell_ didn't Arnold just ask for help? He _never_ shied away from asking for help before!" He let out a long, shuddering breath, both to calm himself, and also at the realization that he'd been referring to his best friend in the past tense, (already), as he had been the whole day. A shiver ran down his spine and all his irritation melted away, leaving behind only that deep-rooted sadness that picked at his heart.

He dropped his head into one of his hands and forced a few deep breaths. His brain was vibrating in his skull, and his thoughts were blurring together painfully. That part of him that wanted to burn the journal reared it's ugly head, but he scolded himself mercilessly for his cowardice, and, without hesitant, trembling fingers, he turned the page.


	3. Chapter 3

_My fingers are itching. I need to write, about anything. Everything. I'm trying not to do something rash, and this is the best way to stop._

 _I hate going to the grocery store. People are always so happy and polite there, and, to be honest, it actually irritates me._

 _Ever since Helga left, I've noticed that my temper has a tendency to flare up without warning. I know it's not fair to everybody else around me; I know it's selfish and so completely unlike me, but I haven't felt like myself ever since Helga. What worries me the most, (perhaps_ _worry_ _is a strong term; what makes me_ _slightly uneasy_ _the most sounds better), is the fact that_ _I've become a regular at the local liquor outlet. They've come to expect me at least once a week now, and, while I guess that should concern me or whatever, it just doesn't._ _It's not like I have anything to lose._ (Gerald let out a breath. The guilt and the endless list of 'what-if's' built inside of him again.)

 _I never used to drink very much. Sure, I'd have a glass of wine every once in a while, and a beer with the fellas on poker night, but I never really got plastered before Helga left. Sure, I wanted to celebrate rather heavily the night Helga and I started dating_

 _Fuck, I didn't mean to think about that. Sometimes I don't think I deserve to have good memories._

 _Screw it. It was Halloween night. I'll remember it for the rest of my life, word for word, because... it changed everything. Rhonda had thrown one of her extravagant Halloween costume parties. That time around, she only invited the original gang from P.S. 118, so we were all pretty comfortable hanging out in her living room. I don't really know if it's important to mention or not, but Rhonda did_ _not_ _half-ass parties; she always went the whole nine yards and that particular year was no different. There wasn't a spot on the wall that didn't don a freakishly-realistic spider, or skeleton, or demon, or whatever. But, of course, Rhonda couldn't dress up as anything scary, and instead came as a princess, and I'd be lying if I said she didn't look beautiful. Rhonda had always been a pretty girl, but over the years, she just became... a guy's dream._

 _Well, most guys' dream._

 _I was a vampire, because I almost forgot about the party and that was really the only costume I could slap together on such short notice. It wasn't anything special. Gerald was a basketball player, (he, too, forgot about the party, despite Phoebe's constant reminders), so at least I wasn't the only person looking stupid. Phoebe was a nurse, with the white dress-thing and a stethoscope and everything. When Gerald saw her, the first thing he said was, "Does this mean we get to play doctor later?" to which Phoebe giggled and I almost vomited._ (Gerald rolled his eyes.) _Everybody was wearing pretty standard costumes: Harold was the Hulk, Sid was a mummy, Stinky was a pirate, Nadine was an explorer, Curly was a zebra, Sheena was Juliet while Eugene was her Romeo, (when they told everybody, there was a unanimous fake-gag), Lila was an angel, Peapod Kid and Lorenzo and Iggy and Park were storm troopers, and even Brainy had shown up as the Phantom of the Opera._

 _Phoebe told the group that Helga was going to be late because she got called into work. I laughed, because I could picture how pissed off Helga must've been to receive that phone call. She was probably all nice to her boss, (I took notice to how she interacted around him; I've known her since before I can remember, so I know when she doesn't like someone, and boy did she_ _hate_ _her boss), but once she hung up I bet the first thing she said was, "Are you fucking kidding me? Out of every fucking day of the year, that bitch Rachel picks_ _today_ _to call in sick?" To this day, I have no idea if Rachel had anything to do with it, but Helga was always complaining that whenever something went wrong at work, it was Rachel's fault, so I learned to assume. I knew that Helga held a deep-rooted hatred for Rachel, one of her co-workers, and it put her irrational hatred of Lila back in elementary school to shame. She never really told me why she hated her so much, but Helga sometimes had these weird hunches about people. Sometimes they were right, (Rachel turned out to be Satan incarnate), and sometimes they were wrong, (Lila was never the "evil, two-faced witch" that Helga insisted she was back in grade school)._

 _Back then, on that fateful Halloween, I had a bit of crush on Helga. Okay, a_ _massive_ _crush; it had started way back in seventh grade when she dropped her whole bully charade and actually tried to be friends with her friends. She was so sweet and so passionate and smart, and, if I can be so bold... puberty was very,_ _very_ _nice to her. I tried not to look too much, because I always thought that was rude, but_ _chest_ _and her_ _legs_ _and... it was too much a for a guy to handle. I had_ _many_ _dreams about her. She still called me Football Head, but I was never really offended by it. Sure, when she first gave me that name way back in elementary school it was pretty irritating, but that also might have something to do with her mocking tone of voice whenever she said it. Over the years, it almost sounded like a nickname, or a pet name, even. She still had a mean right hook and, even though she was generally well-received, everybody knew that you didn't want to step into Helga-land when she was mad. It became a sort of code at H.S. 118._

 _We were all just sort of mingling and hanging out together. Rhonda insisted on waiting for Helga to show up before the games began, so Gerald, Phoebe, and I were standing by the punch bowl talking._

 _"What's Helga's costume?" I asked, as nonchalant and careless as I could. I didn't really like talking about Helga... romantically with anybody but Gerald and Grandpa, and, although I'm pretty sure that Phoebe knew at that point, I didn't want to address it or anything. Gerald saw right through me and rolled his eyes, and even Phoebe had a bit of a knowing smile on her face as she said, "I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you. If it's a surprise, I don't want to ruin it."_

 _"Oh. Um, cool," I said, shrugging a bit to hide my curiosity._

 _Gerald and Phoebe started talking about I-don't-even-know what, and I sort of zoned out, thoughts of possible Helga-costumes running through my mind. A small, (but most_ _definitely_ _present), part of me hoped she'd show up in something a little... revealing, as embarrassing as that thought was, but I also possessively didn't want anybody else to see Helga besides me. I was a confused and hormonal teenager, despite what everybody else thought. Mr. Modest, and all._ (Gerald actually grinned at that and said aloud, "I always thought that his whole innocent thing was all an act.") _She could've been a sexy nurse, or a sexy police officer, (that seemed pretty Helga; beautiful and also dominant), or a zombie. She'd make a pretty cool zombie, I remember thinking. A pretty sexy zombie, too, if only she'd have her clothes all ripped and part of her -_

 _I felt a hand suddenly cover my eyes, and I let out an embarrassing yelp, which every guy in the room laughed at. I was about to squirm out of the grasp of whoever was behind me, but once I heard, "Guess who, Arnoldo?" I immediately relaxed. I even chuckled a little bit._

 _"You know, Helga," I said, folding my arms in front of my chest, "Seeing as I'm a vampire and all, I wouldn't try to scare me. I'm liable to bite you." I was well aware of the implications of that statement, but I let on that I didn't. I had an image to keep up, much like Helga's 'tough-girl' image back in grade school._ _She took her palm off of my eyes, and I turned around to face her, but what I saw made my jaw all but drop to the floor._

 _You've never seen beauty if you didn't see Helga that day. She looking... stunning. Gorgeous. At that moment, I didn't even think it was possible for someone to be so beautiful. Her beautiful blonde hair was half pulled up, and half let down, and her bow was holding her locks perfectly in place. She was wearing a long strapless pink gown with a red bow wrapped around her waist, and she was smiling. She still had her uni-brow; she'd never get rid of it, and I know that because she told me back in freshman year that her uni-brow was part of her, and if she were to pluck it off, she'd no longer be herself. Of course, freshman year we didn't exactly belong to each other, but I knew that I'd love her no matter what. She'll always be beautiful to me, as cheesy as that sounds._

 _"Liable to bite me, eh?" Helga said with a smirk, folding her arms over her chest. "Sounds like a fun time to me."_

 _My mouth clamped shut and I swallowed heavily before I let a grin come to my face. I felt so damn nervous around her, and the fact that she looked like a personified goddess didn't help any. "You look... beautiful, Helga."_

 _Helga blushed and she smiled. Her occasional shyness always baffled me, because she was normally the exact opposite of shy. "Thanks, Football Head. Know what I'm supposed to be?"_

 _I blinked a few times, letting my eyes wander over her body under the clever disguise of trying to guess her costume._ ( Gerald scoffed, and muttered, "Yeah. _Mr. Modest_.") _"Uh, no actually. What are you?"_

 _She scoffed and folded her arms across her chest. At first, I thought she was irritated at my ignorance, and I was about to apologize, but then she said, "A fucking_ _princess_ _. I'm a_ _princess_ _." Her nose scrunched up in disgust. "I told the actual Princess last week that I didn't know what to come as, and she told me to leave it to her. I figured, what the hell. Whatever she had would probably be better than anything I could ever come up with. I was hoping it would at_ _least_ _be badass, but nope. The princess chose a princess." She looked down at herself with a frown. "I feel like a circus freak."_

 _"Well," I said, gathering up the courage to say what I knew I was about to say, "You look like a very beautiful circus freak, then." And then I took her hand in mine and kissed the back of it. I leaned towards her and whispered in her ear, "You're the prettiest girl here." When I drew back, I took immense satisfaction at the blush that was now painting her cheeks the same color as her dress. Her and I had always flirted like that, ever since seventh grade. Well, part way through seventh grade, when my crush really got serious. A lot of people thought we were dating; whenever we went out together, (platonically, we were both convinced), we'd always get comments like, "Oh, aren't you two the cutest couple!" or "Taking your lady on a date, are you?" or "She's a real beauty; you're a lucky guy." We both found it pretty embarrassing, because we weren't dating at the time, but we might as well have been. We flirted every chance we got, and took delight in making each other blush. The more I learned about Helga, the easier it was to completely embarrass her. It was a fun game that we both loved, and I miss those days so fucking much..._

 _She smirked at me, lacing her fingers in mine. "You're a real charmer, you know that, Football Head?"_

 _I returned her grin. "How else am I supposed to make you blush?"_

 _At that, her blush deepened and I smiled victoriously. She just punched my shoulder with her free hand said, "Put a sock in it, Head Boy."_

 _"Alright, you lovebirds, reel it in," Rhonda called from the other side of the room. I was happy that Helga blushed, because my cheeks felt a little warmer than normal. "Since our party is complete, it's time for the games to begin! Everybody, gather in a circle!"_

 _I glanced at Helga, and she shrugged, so we walked over to where Rhonda was standing, and plopped onto the carpet and crossed our legs. Helga groaned when she had to smooth her ankle-length dress out, and muttered, "Fucking dress; I could've been a sexy genie or something, but_ _nooo_ _." I gulped at the mental image of Helga wearing a very revealing genie costume, with her stomach showing, and her legs clad in... I don't know, whatever genies wear, but if it's sexy, then it's gotta be... "Ah, get your mind out of the gutter, Football Head," she interrupted my thought process with a cheeky smirk, and bumped her shoulder into mine. "Like I'd ever show that much skin at a costume party. Sheesh, what do you take me for? Rachel?"_

 _At that, I grinned. Rachel was a bit of a, excuse my French, massive slut. And a Grade A Bitch, first class. She always ruined_ _everything_ _she touched._

 _"Alright, Princess," Helga continued, turning away from me and addressing the hostess. "What fun and exciting games have you planned for all of us tonight?"_

 _"Well," Rhonda said with a grin, gesturing to a bottle in her hand and putting it in the center of the circle. "I thought we'd start out with a classic game of Truth or Dare."_

 _Everybody groaned, but I was secretly excited. It was always fun to learn about other people, and it was especially fun to force your friends to embarrass themselves in front of a group of people. And of course... Helga was brilliant at that game. She really knew everybody's buttons, and pressed them accordingly. It became a staple of every party. Helga's improvisation skills._

 _Helga mumbled loudly, "What are we, seven?" which earned a few laughs, (including me, of course), but also a bit of a glare from Rhonda._

 _"If you don't want to play, you can always sit out," she retorted, knowing full well that Helga would never opt out of torturing her friends with embarrassing questions and humiliating dares._

 _So, Helga just shrugged and said, "No way am I going to miss out on making everybody uncomfortable. You know I'm the queen of this game."_

 _All the boys grimaced and nodded._

 _"So, Helga, does that mean you want to go first?" Rhonda asked, gesturing to the bottle in the center of the circle._

 _Helga shrugged again, taking her hand from mine and leaning forward, taking the bottle and spinning it in a circle. It landed on Sheena. She grinned maliciously, and Sheena gulped, glancing briefly at Eugene for reassurance. Eugene just looked sympathetic and slightly terrified. "Sheena," Helga said, her eyes briefly flickering to Eugene. "Truth or dare?"_

 _"Truth," Sheena squeaked immediately._

 _I could see that Helga was fighting off a laugh. She was well aware of how afraid people were of her when playing games like this, and she used this fear to her advantage. "Truth for Sheena. Alright then." She put a finger to her chin in thought, as if she actually needed to think of a question. I knew Helga. She had brewed up a dare and a question before Sheena had even said something. "Okay, Sheena. Spill. How good is Eugene in the sack?"_

 _Both Sheena and Eugene blushed bright red, and, even thought all the girls tsked Helga for being rude, they were all secretly wondering the same thing. Eugene was a shrimpy guy; it was no wonder they all couldn't imagine why Sheena was so gung-ho about being his girlfriend. They waited patiently before Sheena finally said,_

 _"Can I have another question?"_

 _Helga laughed, crossing one leg over the other. "Alright, alright, I'll take pity on you just this one time since you're a good kid. Now if this were Rhonda," Helga made a clicking noise with her tongue. "I'd be asking for_ _explicit_ _details." Rhonda blushed, averting her eyes from the snickering group of friends, but Curly beamed. "Okay, I have another one," Helga announced. "I've actually been sort of wondering this for a while, but it just never came up. What do you even like about Eugene?"_

 _Sheena smiled, thanking her lucky stars that Helga took pity, and that her follow-up question was really all that bad. She looked at Eugene lovingly. "Eugene is very sweet, and he's always so gentlemanly. And he's a great baker -"_

 _I stopped listening after this for two reasons: 1), I really didn't care, and 2), because Helga had grabbed onto my hand again, and when I looked at her in surprise, she just smiled at me. I smiled back._

 _There were a few more spins after that, (none of which involved me or Helga, so I didn't really pay attention), but then I looked up when I saw it was Gerald's turn. I crossed my fingers behind my back that the bottle didn't land on me when Gerald spun it, but all my hopes were shattered when the empty Yahoo! soda bottle slowed and slowed and slowed and finally fell motionless... pointing directly at me. Gerald smirked and looked up at me, a rather smug look in his eyes, but I just let my head fall into my free hand and groaned. I should've known that something would go wrong. Helga looked beautiful and we were having a great time together, so logically something terrible had to happen. I prepared myself to be embarrassed when Gerald said, all_ _innocent_ _, "Truth or dare, man?"_

 _No matter what I said, he'd make it about Helga, so I figured that a dare would probably be the best choice. At least then I wouldn't have to express my love for her in front of everybody. "Uh... dare."_

 _Everybody went quiet. I, being Mr. Modest, usually picked truth. Like Helga's brilliance at the game, my hesitant nature was also a staple of Rhonda parties. I just closed my eyes and forced my wildly-beating heart to calm down, as I waited as patiently as I could._

 _"Dare, huh?" My eyes flew open at the amused tone of his voice, and I began to regret my decision. "That's kinda out of character for you, Arnold. But," he said hurriedly, "Since you already picked it, you can't go back. Now, what could I dare you to do that would completely embarrass you in front of everybody?" He looked around the room, and I could see the cogs turning. My regret just intensified, and then he finally looked back at me, his smirk growing exponentially. "Alright, I got one." He paused dramatically, and I was about to force him to tell me when he just said, "Kiss Helga."_

 _My cheeks felt very, very hot at these words, and, going off of the modest grin on Phoebe's face, Helga was in a similar condition. I very slowly turned to look at the blonde-haired beauty beside me, and, sure enough, her cheeks were rosy and her mouth was hanging slightly open. She looked as in shock as I felt. After a moment, her mouth clamped shut and her head whipped to look at me. She looked panicked all of a sudden, and I quirked my eyebrows, mentally inquiring what was wrong, but she just shook her head._

 _I remember feeling very disappointed. I took her shake of the head as a sign that she didn't want to kiss me, and that she felt awkward, and that she wanted me to get the two of us out of it. I nodded solemnly, and frowned at my so-called best friend. "Uh, Gerald -"_

 _"Oh, come on, you two are practically dating, anyway," Rhonda said with an eye roll, gesturing to our joined hands. I didn't even realize that we hadn't let go of each other, but, even though she had drawn attention to it, I couldn't bring myself to take my hand from hers. "And it doesn't even have to be a romantic kiss or anything. Just a peck, nothing more, if you're really_ _that_ _uncomfortable."_

 _I sighed, turning back to Helga. They weren't going to let me out of it, so I adjusted my body to face her, and her beautiful cheeks turned even rosier. "F-Football Head -" she managed quietly, glancing away shyly._

 _I don't know what came over me in that moment, but the image of her looking so shy, and so beautiful, and sweet captured my attention and I lunged forward, taking the sides of her face in my hands and pressing my lips gently but firmly against her own. She squeaked in surprise, her mouth opening slightly against mine, and I took advantage of that to deepen the kiss. Hey, I was convinced that she only liked me as a friend, and I was given the perfect opportunity, (I began to mentally thank Gerald), to kiss her and blame it on the dare. That sort of incognito permission doesn't come often, so I was milking her lips against mine as much as possible._

 _But then she starting kissing me back, and her hands came up to rest on my upper arms as she shifted closer to me. I completely forgot about the other kids around us; it was just her and I, and she kissed like an angel. I let my fingers tangle in her beautiful blonde hair that cascaded down her shoulders and sighed through my nose when she started to gently massage my skin through my vampire costume. It was... perfect. She was perfect. Is. Helga is_ _so_ _perfect._

 _A loud whooping interrupted us, and she immediately pulled back, letting her hands linger on me before falling into her lap. I sighed deeply, and I kept my eyes closed for a little longer before releasing her and forcing them open to face the teasing of the other kids in the group. Sid, Stinky, and Harold were pretty much barking like dogs, all the girls were smiling at us, and Gerald had his arms folded and he nodded at me with this proud grin on his face._ (Gerald smiled. "I'd never been _more_ proud of that kid in my whole life.")

 _I touched the tips of my fingers to my lips in shock, my blush deepening as I realized that I had actually_ _touched my fingertips to my lips_ _in front of other people, and my hand whipped back down to my side in embarrassment. I took a deep, long breath, refusing to look at Helga before managing out, "O-Okay. H-Happy now, Gerald?"_

 _"Very," he answered, his smile widening._

 _"Good. Great. Okay, my turn. Alright, yeah." I cleared my throat, my cheeks burning further at my continued stuttering. I leaned forward to spin the bottle and when it landed on who it landed on, an angry utterance from my left interrupted my thoughts._

 _"Oh, for Pete's sake, Football Head, you have the worst luck on the face of the planet. I almost pity you for it."_

 _I sighed again, pinching the bridge between my nose. "Okay, Helga, truth or dare."_

 _Helga's voice was stiff, (I still refused to look at her), as she said, "Truth."_

 _Relief. Pure relief. I didn't think I could handle daring her to do anything at all. Especially not after that mind-blowing kiss. "Okay, uh. . . ." I glanced around the room at the smirking kids. An idea came to my head, that wasn't exactly personal, but would do the trick. I grinned. "How much do you want to kill Gerald right now?"_

 _Gerald rolled his eyes at me, but Helga laughed. "Oh, immensely, Football Head._ _Immensely_ _. But, you know, I gotta hand it to him,_ _that's_ _how you make a good dare. You should take notes, Head Boy. Not only were you blushing like a virgin bride, but even_ _I_ _had a little... well, I was..." she frowned. She obviously didn't know where she was going with that statement. "Even_ _I_ _was a little... not blushing, because Helga G. Pataki does_ _not_ _blush, but I was a little... not really embarrassed, either, but maybe, just a little -"_

 _"Oh, quit while you're ahead, Pataki," Gerald said with a smirk._

 _"Shut up, Johanssen," she said with an eye roll, folding her arms in front of her chest. "Okay," she continued, reaching forward for the bottle. "Whoever my next victim is, prepare for utter humiliation."_

 _Nothing really noteworthy happened for the rest of the game. Everybody got bored with it, so they forced Rhonda to move on with the party. And the next game she chose was, of course: Seven Minutes in Heaven. Sure, I'd played the game before, probably a half dozen times, actually, and I had never really found it all that special. Whenever I landed on a girl, or a girl landed on me, I'd just go into the closet with them, and we'd talk about school or some shit for seven minutes, and then they'd let us out. I'd never picked Helga before, and she'd never picked me, so I never fully participated, but, because that one particular night was a blessing in disguise, (or a curse in disguise of a blessing in disguise), when we were all sat in a circle with that stupid bottle..._

 _Helga landed on me. My heart just about exploded from my chest, and I could feel my cheeks heat up immediately. I thought I was going to catch fire, and it only got worse when I noticed the smirks and chuckles of the other kids around me. I couldn't even look at Helga._

 _"Mmm mmm mmm," Gerald said, shaking his head with his arms folded over his chest. I swear, if that night didn't turn out the way it did, I would've_ _throttled_ _him the second we got back to the Boarding House. "You two just can't get enough of each other tonight, can you?"_

 _I was in no state to answer, but I was startled out of my little embarrassed stupor when Helga suddenly seized my hand in hers, pulled me to my feet, and dragged me to the closet before I could even realize what was happening. A chorus of 'oooo's' followed us, but she didn't take notice, and I didn't either. I quirked my eyebrows at her when she slammed the door behind us and leaned her back on it, her eyes cast downwards and a frown on her face. She looked... sort of scared, actually._

 _"Helga?" I asked. "Are you okay?"_

 _She flinched, as if being awoken from her thoughts, and spared me a brief glance. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Football Head. They're just getting on my nerves is all."_

 _I nodded. "Yeah, I can understand that."_

 _There was a really awkward silence. Not your standard awkward silence, but the kind that can only happen when two people are in love and are completely unaware of it. Finally, she just looked up and said, "Look, Arnold, about that kiss back there, I'm sorry."_

 _"You're... sorry?" The concept of her apologizing for kissing me under any circumstances for whatever reason wasn't in my realm of comprehension._

 _She sighed. "Yeah, I didn't mean to freak you out or anything -"_

 _"Freak me out-"_

 _"Look, Arnold," she interrupted. Her voice was so firm and serious that I was shocked into silence. "You're the nicest person I know. Hell, you're probably the nicest person that's ever existed, but you don't have to be all nice about this. I know I probably freaked you out when I started..." she swallowed noticeably, "k-kissing you back, which wasn't part of the dare at all, and I'm just sorry about that. It wasn't a... bad kiss, so I guess I sort of got caught up in the idea of it -"_

 _"So you... started kissing me because you got caught up in the idea of kissing me?" I asked, quirking an eyebrow. I always loved when Helga tried to explain the strange things she did, because it almost never made sense. And this time was no exception._

 _"_ _No_ _, Football Head, are you even listening to me?" she asked, scowling and finally lifted her head to make eye contact with me. "You're a good kisser and I just sort of started kissing you back without even really meaning to, and it, uh... didn't have anything to do with you, but just your... lips." Her finish was awkward, and I probably would've laughed at her if my heart wasn't beating viciously in my throat. "I forgot it was you, my_ _friend_ _, because, um... your mouth was..." she paused and grimaced at her own words. "Your mouth was... good. You, uh, been kissing girls without my knowledge, Football Head?" She chuckled awkwardly, but I didn't know if I was supposed to laugh, or comfort her, or tell her that I understood. It was hard to read her back then. "Are you, uh, picking up what I'm putting down, Head Boy?"_

 _I honestly didn't really get what she was trying to say. I sort of thought she was trying to separate me from my lips to try to explain why she was kissing me back, but that was such a weird, (but also pretty expected, coming from her), response. I blinked a few times at her, before saying, "I... think so -"_

 _"Good." She lowered herself to the floor, (still struggling with her dress a little), and then beckoned me to her with her hands, so I sat down beside her._

 _There was another briefly awkward silence, but a thought came to my mind that would either make her laugh, make her nervous, or make her really angry with me. I figured I'd take my chances, as I'd found myself doing with her since junior high. I grinned at her, bumping my shoulder against hers. "So. Helga. You think I'm a good kisser?"_

 _She rolled her eyes, and said sarcastically, "The best I've ever had, Football Head."_

 _I felt my cheeks heat up and my throat went dry, but I felt a sudden determination. We had just kissed for the first time since fourth grade, and it was driving me insane. She had gotten_ _much_ _better at it, and she was already uncomfortably good at the age of nine. "Alright, Helga, that's it."_

 _Helga looked at me. "What's it?"_

 _"That. That's it. I'm just gonna... okay, I'm just gonna go for. I should've done this years ago, and now's as good a time as any. I'm just gonna say it, and whatever happens happens." When she gave me a confused stare, I swallowed and averted my eyes. "Um, Helga, I, uh..." Nerves just bundled up inside me, and I didn't know how I was supposed to tell her that I'd loved her since seventh grade without freaking_ _her_ _out. "Um, Helga? What I'm about to say might surprise you, so just -"_

 _"Arnold, you're not making sense and you're babbling," she said in an unimpressed tone, folding her beautiful arms over her beautiful chest. "You're the weirdest person I've ever met; I'm pretty sure whatever's bugging that weird-shaped head of yours won't surprise me. Just spit it out already."_

 _Oh, but was she surprised. I forced myself to make eye contact with her as I said, "Helga, you are the most amazing person I've ever met in my entire life, and I hope you meant what you said when we were nine years old, and I hope you still mean it, because I realized something all the way back in seventh grade: I really, really, really like you. Love you. I love you_ _so much_ _it sometimes makes my heart ache, but I didn't want to ruin our friendship, so I kept it to myself. But, Helga, I am... ridiculously nervous right now." I forced myself to maintain eye contact, but I pulled at the cloak around my neck, because it suddenly felt much tighter. "Hell, my heart is in my throat and... heh, it's a little tough to breath with you so... close to me, and I just want you to know that. All of it. I love you, Helga." I swallowed heavily. I wanted to pull her into my chest, but I was afraid of touching her. "Please tell me you love me, too."_

 _She stared at me for a second, and I remember feeling so fucking anxious and almost ashamed at my own confession, like our entire friendship had just dissolved before my very eyes. But then she just whispered, "Oh, Arnold..." and grabbed my face and smashed our lips together and fuck, it was the most wonderful sensation I'd ever felt. Her lips were soft and warm and aggressive; it wasn't the time for gentle and loving pecks. It was the time for a teeth-clashing, lip-bruising, hickey-fest of a make-out session. It was the time for passion, and, being Helga G. Pataki, she wasn't short of it. It took me a second to start kissing her back, but when I did, I'm pretty sure we levitated off the floor. In that moment, we could have cured cancer and world hunger_ _and_ _world-wide poverty, as long as we did it together._

 _I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her closer to me, but my eyes bugged out of my head when she just hopped onto my lap, straddling my hips, without removing her lips from mine. She did it like it was the most natural thing in the world, and my heart ached for her just a little bit more. So, I gathered her to myself, a little_ _roughly_ _, if I'm honest. But fuck, it was worth the risk of hurting her when I heard that soft moan she made. I'll admit, I felt selfish in that moment. As long as I belonged to Helga, I was going to make damn sure that she belonged to me, too. Only me._

 _Before I knew it, I guess the seven minutes were up, because the surface my back was pressed up against was suddenly not there anymore and I was laying flat on the floor, with a surprised Helga Pataki hovering over me, dangerously close. Our lips separated because of the abrupt change in position, but I was still distracted by her icy-blue eyes, staring down at me in shock, to even realize that there might be other people in the room with us._

 _"Uh... Arnold? Helga?" Gerald's voice broke the spell and Helga blinked a few times before clamoring off of me, a bit ungracefully, but much like her, and her cheeks blushing endearingly pink. Her lips were puffy and red, and I remember swelling with pride that it was_ _me_ _that made her lips puffy and red. I stood up on shaking legs and managed to stifle the smile I wanted to present to the world because Helga G. Pataki had just started making out with me in a closet after I told her I loved her. It was like a dream come true._

 _"So... is it safe to say that you two are dating now?" Rhonda asked, interrupting my thoughts. It was a nice question to raise, because it didn't even cross my mind. I was just so damn_ _happy_ _._

 _I looked to Helga, silently asking her, (because, after all, a kiss doesn't really mean a declaration of love), but she just rolled my eyes and folded her arms over her chest. "Crimeny, Football Head! You love me and I love you, so no, of_ _course_ _we're not dating."_

 _My heart soared and I beamed at her. "You love me? Really?"_

 _She smiled. "Yeah, I guess so. I mean, you're okay for a_ _Football Head_ _."_

 _I laughed, taking her in my arms and swinging her in a circle. She squealed in surprise, (a very interesting noise coming from her), but she was laughing, too, and when I lowered her back to the floor, I made quick time in kissing her again. I was fifteen and finally dating the girl I'd been in love with since I was twelve, and she had even told me she loved me, too, and nothing could have dampened my spirit._

 _"I have some condoms in my pocket, should the occasion have presented itself in mine and Gerald's situation," Phoebe, of all people, interrupted in her soft, amused, and obviously pleased voice. "Would you two like one?"_

 _I immediately released Helga and took a step back. Sure, I knew my way around a dirty joke and everything, but I was never comfortable just casually talking about sex, and there was something exponentially worse about talking about sex around other people, concerning the love of my life._ (Gerald hummed in remembrance. "He never did tell me too many details when he lost his virginity." Gerald grinned at the memory. "But he was practically bouncing up and down like a kid in a candy store, that's for sure.") _I looked at Phoebe, and I could feel my cheeks burning, so I put a hand to my face and said, "Ph-Phoebe!"_

 _Everybody just laughed at me, but the next words out of Helga's mouth shocked me so much more than Phoebe's unexpected offer. "I might just take you up on that, Phoebs."_

 _I gaped at her. "_ _H-Helga!_ _"_

 _"Oh, relax, Football Head," she said, waving me off with a laugh. "Like I'd really give it away on the same night we start dating. You've gotta work for it first." And then the gang got a good ol' chuckle at Mr. Modest for taking everything so seriously all the time._

 _The night continued on as it normally would have, but I could hardly focus with Helga underneath my arm with her head on my chest. She smelled like vanilla, and I tried not to breath her in too much, because I knew that that would've been extremely creepy. She let me run my fingers through her hair and she kept making these sweet cooing noises whenever I was inspired to kiss her on the top of her head._

 _At the end of the night, when I walked her home and I had to say goodbye, she gave me another one of her mind-blowing, heart-stopping, knee-wobbling kisses, but it didn't last nearly as long as I wanted it to. But, we_ _are_ _talking about Helga, and she was never one for short kisses, even back when we were nine._

 _How we went our separate ways escapes my memory. I don't know who walked away from who, or who said the last word, or who watched who leave. I only remember the nice, warm feelings about that night, and blocked out anything else. I don't know if I deserve it the feeling, but I crave good memories right now._

 _Gerald and I had a horror movie marathon that night. He was happy for me, and I was happy for myself. I think that that night I was the happiest I'd ever been. Nothing can compare to it, and nothing ever will._

* * *

Gerald smiled. "Arnold must've been in a good mood when he wrote this. He sounded so happy. Well... happier than normal." He let out a sad sigh, and rubbed at his eyes. "It's going to get worse," he mercilessly taunted himself. "And then it's going to be over."


	4. Chapter 4

_Grandma and Grandpa were really worried about me when Helga left. I could see it in their eyes and they started talking much much gentler than usual. Grandpa stopped talking about raspberries and Grandma lost the whole senile-act and behaved like the grandmotherly figure that she should've been the whole time. I always knew she was faking. _

_After college, they let me move into the Boarding House indefinitely, and they never asked too many questions. I really appreciated that._

 _When my grandparents were younger, their situation was eerily similar to mine and Helga's. Grandma was the relentless bully that was head-over-heels for her favorite victim, and, in the end, they fell madly in love with each other and had never been a part since. But in_ _their_ _story, they lived happily ever after._ _I_ _ended up alone. I think they realized the severity of my situation, because I knew they saw themselves in me. They saw what they would've been like if they didn't have each other, and I could feel their pity pour over me in buckets. They saw the bottles. They smelled the whiskey. They caught me, collapsed on my bed on my worst days. They just didn't know what to do, and I don't really blame them._

 _They died on the same day. Both peacefully in their sleep. Grandpa's last words to me were, "Get some rest, Shortman," and Grandma gave me her final kiss on my cheek when they put me to bed. Every once in a while, they would catch me completely wasted in a room other than my bedroom, and together they would walk me up the stairs with the hopes that I'd have good dreams. I appreciated the sentiment._

 _The day of the funeral was the last day I saw Helga. I asked Phoebe to invite her, (I don't know her address, or her phone number or anything), but I wasn't expecting her to show up. I thought she still wasn't speaking to me, (her parting words spoke for themselves), but, to my complete and utter surprise, she actually did_ _come with Phoebe and Gerald. She was wearing a long black dress, and her hair brushed neatly and resting gently on her shoulders. She had been crying, but she still looked so beautiful. She had two eyebrows now. I wondered when that had happened. My heart swelled at the sight of her, but then shattered when I realized that she wasn't there for me, and she wouldn't stay afterwards. I knew she wouldn't even come to say hi, or apologize for my loss, or... or anything. She was there for my grandparents, because she loved them and they loved her._

 _I was the only close family that Grandma and Grandpa had left, so I had to stand by myself right before the funeral to accept the apologies from people I hardly knew. Gerald had hugged me so tight I thought my spine was going to snap and he murmured near my ear, "I'm really sorry, man." I just nodded and let him hug me until he was finished, and when he pulled back his face was so contorted with worry that it almost scared me. I managed a smile. It was shaky and it fell almost immediately, but I had to do something for Gerald's sake, and I saw some relief in his eyes at my gesture. At least I was trying. But then he sighed, and said quietly, so only I could hear, "I'll be over here if you need me."_

 _Phoebe was very teary eyed, and she kept jumping at every little noise, but when she saw it was her turn to give me her sympathies, she nearly leaped into my arms and gave me a hug almost as tight as Gerald's. "Arnold, I'm so sorry," she whispered._

 _I patted her on the back and said "S'okay."_

 _She held me for a bit longer before letting me go, checking my face briefly to make sure I wasn't crying, and then scurrying off after Gerald._

 _I looked to see who was next in line and my heart nearly stopped. My brain froze, and my blood ran cold, and every other bad thing that can happen to a person without killing them happened to me. I thought she'd hang out in the back of the church and wait for the service to begin, but no. She was standing right before me, rubbing one of her shoulders nervously, and her feet crossed in front of her. My mouth opened and closed in shock, before I finally managed out, "H-Helga?"_

 _Helga glanced at me briefly, before looking in the direction that Phoebe had gone off in. She didn't say anything for a moment, but then her icy blue eyes suddenly flicked back to me and she said in a shaky voice, "Hi, Arnold."_

 _Without thinking, I took a step forward and pulled her thin frame into my chest, wrapping my arms around her as tight as I dared. Tears poured down my cheeks and it was so hard to breath. I was so happy that she had come to see me, and that she was inside of my arms again, that I could almost smile, but then it registered... Helga wasn't hugging me back. She was just... there. She was just letting it happen. I let go of her slightly so I could see her face, and I was shocked to see that the whole time I was holding her, she had been silently crying. When I caught her gaze, I saw the same sadness in her eyes that I saw... that one particular day, and I realized that..._

 _"Arnold," she said, desperately trying to control her voice, "I'm here for the funeral."_

 _I stared at her. "Th-the funeral?"_

 _Very gently, Helga broke out of my hold and absentmindedly smoothed out her dress. "Yes. It was, uh... g-good to... " Helga swallowed. "It was good to, uh... I'm sorry for your loss, and I, uh..." She took a staggered breath, glancing in the direction of Phoebe and Gerald again. "I'm sorry, Arnold." Her gazed rested on me again. "I'm really sorry."_

 _"That's okay," I said quickly, taking a step towards her and reaching an arm out so I could hold her hand. "Helga, please, it's okay. And I'm sorry -"_

 _Helga took a quick step away from me, like she thought my touch would burn her, and hid her hands behind her back. She averted her eyes. "No, Arnold. I'm here for the funeral and I'm sorry for your loss and, um... oh,_ _God_ _, Arnold, I still lo-" Her breath caught in her throat and she cleared it a few times, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. "I'm sorry."_

 _And with that, (despite my cry of, "Helga, wait!"), she hurried away from me._

 _I didn't really pay much attention to the rest of the funeral. I just sort of followed in the direction of everybody else, and I was lucky that Gerald was by my side the whole time, or else I definitely would've wandered away and gotten lost. I was asked to say a few words as they lowered my Grandma and Grandpa into the ground, side-by-side, just as they would've like it, but I refused. I couldn't get two words out, let alone deliver a heart-felt speech about how much I loved them. I loved them... so much. They were pretty much my parents, and I had just lost them, nine months after I lost part of my soul. It was too much; I couldn't handle it._

 _After my grandparents were lowered into the ground, and people were dispersing, I caught sight of blonde hair out of the corner of my eye. I'd recognize that blonde hair anywhere, so I called out, before she could get too far, "Helga! Helga, please wait!" She pretended like she didn't hear me and she started hurrying away faster. "Just a minute, please! Just to say goodbye!" At those words, Helga did halt in her movements, and she slowly pivoted on the spot to look at me with a purposefully vacant stare. I let out a sigh of relief; she was gracing me with her presence, which sounds cheesy, but after nine months without her, I meant the words so sincerely._

 _I took a few steps forward when an unwelcome woman suddenly jumped in my path. She flung her arms around my neck and buried her head in my chest, saying in a woeful voice, "Oh, Arnold! I'm so sorry for your loss! I tried to find you in the Church, but you weren't anywhere!" I was frozen in shock, but when I recovered, and pushed the bitch off of me, Helga had already made a beeline in the opposite direction. The last thing I saw was a flash of blonde hair and then she was gone._

 _I blinked a few tears away. I lost my chance. She was giving me a chance, and I lost it because of the most unwelcome person I could've ever imagined: Rachel. Rachel, the bitch Helga hated back in high school. Rachel, the bitch that was always on the hunt for unsuspecting guys to fuck and flee. Rachel, the bitch that ruined my life. I scowled fiercely at her, and shouted, "What the hell do you think you're doing? And why are you even here?" I'm sure I attracted some attention, but nobody came to intervene, which I guess_, _technically, was a bad thing, but that moment was too satisfying that I couldn't begrudge anybody for not stepping in._

 _Rachel smiled at me. "I'm here to support you." She leaned forward and whispered, "Your grandparents passed away," as if it were some huge fucking secret between her and I, but I just barred my teeth at her._

 _"They were both almost a century old. As sad as I am, it wasn't exactly_ _unexpected_ _," I snapped at her. She didn't look bothered by my yelling at her. In fact, it looked like her smile actually_ _grew_ _at the fact that I yelled at her, and that just made me angrier. I'd never felt more dangerous in my life, and, before I even realized what I was doing, I took a step towards her. I felt the daggers in my eyes and I said, "Enough pleasantries._ _You're_ _the reason I lost the love of my life." I had never hated a human being more than I hated Rachel in that moment. And every moment afterwards. She deserves to rot in hell._

 _"What, Helga?" She scoffed and I wanted to bash her brains in. "Look, Arnold, I know you're grieving, and I really am sorry that your grandma and grandpa are dead, but you were not that attached to Helga Pataki. Remember Valentine's Day?"_

 _I took another step towards her, the rage building in my veins like my blood was some sort of freak scientific screw-up. "Yes, I remember._ _That_ _was the day you ruined my life. She never forgave me, even though it wasn't my fault._ _You're_ _the one who kissed_ _me_ _."_

 _"Please, don't act like you didn't like it, Arnold," she said, with a wave of her hand._ (Gerald scowled. He knew what Arnold was about to do, and he wholeheartedly condoned it, even if he was about five years too late.)

 _"I didn't like it. In fact, I found it absolutely_ _revolting_ _. And you wanna know why?"_

 _She smirked. "Please."_

 _"Because I don't like swapping spit with_ _sluts_ _," I answered, my hands balling into fists at my sides. I felt my mouth twist into something ugly and I was seeing an alarming shade of red. My face felt so warm, even though it was a fucking cold day in early November. "And you, Rachel, are the __biggest_ _slut I have ever met."_

 _Rachel's mouth opened and closed in shock. She'd known me for four years-all throughout high school-but she'd never heard me curse before. I never used to do it very much; my Mr. Modest title wasn't just limited to sex. I didn't swear, I hardly ever drank, and I had only ever kissed one girl, before my lips were assaulted by the Bitch Queen. And that one girl was Helga. I wanted it to stay that way; I wanted to be able to kiss her good morning, and kiss her good night, and kiss her whenever one of us came home from work. I never wanted to stop. I wanted to be with her forever, but Rachel took all my hope away in two seconds._

 _"I think you should leave," I said, in a forced-calm voice. "Before I start getting very,_ _very_ _angry, and I promise you, I'm on the brink."_

 _Rachel blinked a few times before cocking her head to the side. "The brink of what, exactly?"_

 _I'm pretty sure I actually growled at her. "Get out of my sight._ _Now_ _."_

 _A hand suddenly clapped my shoulder, but I didn't look over to see who it was. I heard the voice of my best friend say in a confident, but gentle voice, "Hey, Arnold, everything's being cleared up. You want to head back to the Boarding House?" I was trembling under Gerald's hand and I didn't look away from Rachel for a second. She was still standing there. She wasn't leaving. I don't know what she wanted from me, but whatever it was, she wasn't going to get it. I guess Gerald followed my eye, because I heard him say in a confused voice, "Rachel Williams? From high school? What are you doing here?"_

 _Rachel smiled and I felt the sudden compulsion to punch her right in the face. "Oh, I just came to give Arnold my apologies."_

 _"Oh, how thoughtful," the delicate voice of Phoebe said. "Well, we're going to drop Arnold off at the Boarding House, did you need a ride?"_

 _"No, she doesn't," I answered coolly. "She's going to waltz right back to hell where she came from."_

 _There was a pause in conversation, but I only had eyes for Rachel. I was trying to tell her with my gaze that she needed to leave before I physically hurt her, but she didn't seem to be getting the message. She just quirked her eyebrows like some fucking psych-ward patient, and didn't say anything._

 _"Uh, Arnold?" Gerald said in a cautious voice. "Maybe we should get you home." He tried to steer me away towards his car, but I wrenched myself from his grasp. Rachel_ _still_ _hadn't fucking left, and, even though_ _I_ _was about to leave, it still disturbed me that_ _she_ _refused to leave. I was about to go fucking mental at the sight of her just standing there, smiling at me._

 _"Rachel," I said in a low voice, stalking up to her so I was right in her face. "Why the fuck are you still here?"_

 _She smiled at me. "Like I said, I was giving you my apologies-"_

 _I didn't wait for her to continue. My right arm acted on its own; it came backwards to gain leverage, and then powered forward, colliding into the side of her face with a disgusting crack, and the pain that shot through my knuckles told me that I was going to bruise later on. "_ _Fuck_ _," I hissed through my teeth, shaking my hand to try to get the stinging to go away, but Rachel was much worse off. She was knocked out cold, laying in the wet snow, with blood trickling down her nose. I'm pretty sure I broke it, but Gerald had pulled me back and rushed me into the car as fast as he could, so I didn't get to see._

 _"Arnold, man, what the fuck was that?" he demanded. I never told Gerald the reason why Helga broke up with me. I thought I'd keep it to myself, so he didn't know why I hated Rachel so much, but I was in no mood to explain it to him. I stayed quiet, only cradling my right hand in my left and staring at the floor of the car. "Arnold," Gerald said in a more calm voice, settling into the car beside me. "Talk to me, man. What happened?"_

 _I glanced up at him, trying to extinguish the flame in my eyes, but, judging by Gerald's blink in surprise after we made eye contact, I don't think I was successful. "I told her to leave, and she didn't."_

 _"Okay," Gerald said slowly. "But... why did you punch her?"_

 _I glared at him. "Because. Can you just take me home, please?"_

 _Gerald looked at me for a few more seconds before sighing deeply, and put the key into the ignition. He quickly sent a text to Phoebe, who looked over from where she was standing and gave him a thumbs up, before he pulled out of the cemetery parking lot. Gerald's eyes flicked to me briefly and he said, "Buckle up. If I get in a crash the passenger seat's the first one to go."_

 _I rolled my eyes, but knew that this point was too trivial to fight him on, so I conceded. It wasn't the time to die, anyway._

 _He was driving for a few minutes before I felt his eyes on me again. I pretended like I didn't feel it; I just hoped he'd look away after a while and leave me alone with my thoughts. Probably not the_ _best_ _place for me to be, nor the healthiest by_ _any_ _means, but it was much better than reality._

 _I guess Gerald knew I was waiting for him to say something, because he sighed and said, "Arnold, I'm not going to let this go. You just sucker-punched a girl in the face, and, when we left her, she was bleeding in the snow. Something had to've provoked that, and I don't believe you did it just because you told her to leave and she didn't. I know you, man, and you'd_ _never_ _hit a girl. Hell, you'd never hit_ _anyone_ _! You're too..._ _Arnold_ _for that."_

 _I glanced up at him. "What the fuck does that even mean? In high school, I was too_ _Arnold_ _to drink whiskey and too_ _Arnold_ _to swear. What makes you think I'm too_ _Arnold_ _now to punch someone?"_

 _Gerald let out a very deep, very patient sigh. "What did she do to make you so angry?"_

 _I folded my arms in front of me and stared out the window. The conversation was over. He wasn't getting anything else out of me._

 _"Arnold." Gerald's voice was firm now. "I want to help you, but I can't if you don't talk to me." He finally pulled up to the curb next to the Boarding House, put the car in park, and turned to face me. "What happened? You used to tell me everything, but now you won't say five words to me."_

 _I unbuckled my seat belt, and put my hand on the door handle, but he grabbed my arm. He was expecting an answer. I lifted up a hand and counted off, "Fuck. You. And. Leave. Me. Alone. Look, there you have six. Goodnight." I wrenched myself out of Gerald's grasp and left the car, slamming the door angrily and hurrying into the Boarding House as fast as I could._

 _It was empty. I mean, really, really empty. All the boarders were still at the cemetery, doing who knows what. I always thought the Boarding House was a little eerie when there was no one inside. It used to be so full of life. All the animals that usually came bursting through the front door whenever it was opened were long gone; since Grandma dropped the crazy, there was no need to keep stray cats and sled dogs. Abner got run over by a bus when I was a seventeen, so he hadn't been in the Boarding House in a while. Grandma stopped mixing up holidays, which meant no fireworks on Thanksgiving, and no Christmas trees on April Fools' Day. Everything was mundane, but I liked it that way. Now, running my fingers along the wooden walls made all those exciting, and yet unorthodox traditions seem so... normal. I realized in that moment that I missed them. Missed them so much, my heart began to ache even worse. I guess, in only those nine months after Helga, before my grandparents, I took advantage of that and didn't appreciate it. Because now... well, it was gone._

 _There's this little cabinet in the kitchen that I keep padlocked. Nobody knows what's in it. Well, maybe my grandparents did, and maybe Gerald does, but none of the boarders have a clue. They accept that I need privacy and they give it to me. It's my own personal liquor cabinet, where I keep back-ups in case I'm on the verge of a breakdown but don't have a human mediator to soothe the pain. I usually force myself to leave the house to get my whiskey; it's one of the only productive things I'm capable of, but on that particular day, I was working through so much turmoil that I couldn't leave the house again. I needed the relief, and soon._

 _I fumbled with the key that I kept on a necklace at all times, inserting it into the little key hole with trembling fingers and aggressively pulled the door open. I didn't even really look to see what bottle I grabbed; I just seized the first one that my hand could wrap itself around, slammed the door closed, managed to remember to re-lock it, and left the kitchen._

 _I was tempted to go to_ _my_ _bedroom, but I decided against it. I needed to be with Grandma and Grandpa. I just wished that need was with me before... well,_ _before_ _. The only thing I could think of to get even remotely close to them was to go to their bedroom. I almost didn't want to, but I knew that I needed to._

 _I slowly opened the door, almost hoping that I'd see them just lying in their bed, sleeping, and that I had just awoken from some terrifying nightmare, but the bottle in my hand, the glass cold against my sweating fingers, was my proof that I was alone. Finally, truly alone._ (Gerald sighed. "Dammit it, Arnold..." was all he managed to say.)

 _I closed the door behind me, looking around the room for a few minutes. There were pictures of Grandma and Grandpa on the wall, and the bookshelf with their memory books was right beside Grandma's bed, as I always remember them being, but I realized something. There was something... missing. Something that should've been in my arms, but wasn't. Something that I desperately needed to cling to, but couldn't, because it wasn't where it should've been._

 _And then it hit me: Helga's pink poetry book._

 _I laid the bottle down on Grandma and Grandpa's bedside table, sprinted up the stairs to the attic, and flung open the door. There, on my bed, right where I left it, was the poetry book that Gerald always told me I should get rid of. I picked it up, held it to my chest for a moment, and then sprinted back downstairs, making sure to close the door behind me. I didn't think anybody would expect me to be in Grandma and Grandpa's bedroom, so I figured it served two purposes: allow me to more vividly remember two of the most influential people of my life, and to also conceal my location from anybody who'd want to "help" me._

 _A few minutes, or hours, or days, I don't fucking know, passed, and I was just curled on the floor in between Grandma and Grandpa's bed. I tried sitting down on Grandpa's mattress, but it felt wrong, and so did Grandma's, so I just collapsed on the hardwood and pressed my back up against their bedside table. I was well on my way to finishing the bottle, and Helga's\ pink poetry book was pressing painfully against my chest, but I didn't loosen my grip. I couldn't let it go; I needed it._

 _I heard a knock on the door, and I groaned but otherwise stayed quiet. I needed to be alone._

 _"Arnold, come on, man, it's me! Gerald!" Gerald's voice said on the other side of the door. "Please let me in." He knocked on the door again._

 _I didn't answer him, but the sound of the door finally opening and a gasp found my ears. After a moment of silence, in which I took another sip from the bottle and pretended Gerald wasn't there, the guy in question suddenly said in a quiet, almost_ _terrified_ _voice, now that I think about it, "Shit, man." At that, I glanced up through wet eyes, and he was just standing there, dumbfounded, taking in the whole pathetic scene of me. Sitting on the floor. Drunk on whiskey. The poetry book from a fourth grader tightly held in my arms. My knuckles bruised, possibly broken, from punching a girl in the face. What a memory. "What happened?" He made a move forward to help me off the floor, but I pressed myself further into the bedside table, the edge digging into my skull, and I took comfort in the pain of it._

 _"No, Gerald!" I said, my voice slurred and louder than normal. "Leave me alone!"_

 _"I can't do that," Gerald said, walking towards. "You're going to end up hurting yourself."_

 _"Then let me hurt myself. I don't care," I said, letting my head crash painfully against the hard wood, the lamp on the top surface rattling at my sudden collision._

 _Gerald let out a deep sigh and took another step forward. "Come on, man, don't talk like that. I'll help you into bed."_

 _"No," I said, pressing my back further into the table behind me, as if that would do anything. I tried to take another drink from the bottle, but Gerald took it out of my hands. "Just leave me here. Go to Phoebe. Be with your family. Have kids and teach them how to speak Japanese, but please leave me here. Let me die."_

 _Gerald gripped my wrists and he pulled me to my feet. I was so exhausted and heartbroken, and I felt so worthless and finished with the world that I let him man-handle me into my grandfather's bed. I knew Gerald cared about me. I know he still_ _does_ _care about me, but in that moment, I couldn't trust anyone and I didn't believe anything anybody told me, so I said,_

 _"Please let me die, Gerald. I don't have hardly anything left. It wouldn't matter to me." He finally had me laying down on my side, but I reached my hand up and grabbed the side of his face, staring desperately into his aching eyes. "Gerald,_ _please_ _."_

 _Gerald took my hand off his face and shook his head. He thought I'd blacked out; he thought I wouldn't remember, I could tell by how he was reacting. If he had known I was serious... "I'm not going to let you die, Arnold. What would Helga say if she saw you like this, hmm?"_

 _A laugh escaped me. I couldn't help it; the thought of the_ _bitch_ _herself caring what happened to_ _me_ _was so hilarious that I couldn't keep it to myself. "Helga? Helga G. Pataki? Caring about_ _me_ _? That's bullshit, and you know it; she probably planned this, ever since preschool. She probably thought that she'd get me to fall in love with her so that she could just take it all away, and it's be the funniest fucking joke in the world." I sat up slightly and shouted at the top of my lungs, "You hear that, Helga? You won! You beat me!"_

 _Gerald planted a hand across my mouth and lowered me back on the bed. "Calm down, you're going to pop a lung. Arnold, you're drunk and delirious, and you're talking nonsense. You need to get some sleep." He tried to take the poetry book from my tense hands, but I gripped it even tighter and spat at him,_

 _"This is all I have left of her! Don't take it away!"_

 _Gerald glanced down at the book briefly and he sighed. "Arnold, you're going to have to get over her at some point."_

 _I rolled away from him, burying my face into a pillow that smelled like Grandpa and said, "No, I don't."_

 _Gerald straightened up and took my pathetic image in as a whole. "_ _Look_ _at you, man; pining over her isn't a solution; it's_ _killing_ _you!"_

 _I drilled myself deeper in the bed, the pink book digging into the skin over my heart. I wanted to run away, but Gerald would've caught me in my tracks, and even if he didn't, I wouldn't have made it past the front door. I took a staggered breath and mumbled, "I know. But I don't care anymore. I just want it to be over."_

 _Gerald didn't miss a beat. "Well,_ _I_ _don't want it to be over. I care about you, man, and I'm worried about you."_

 _I groaned. "Don't. Just give up. I've lost everything."_

 _After a pause, Gerald's voice grew soft as he said, "You haven't lost me. I'm your best friend, and I'm not going anywhere."_

 _I caressed the spine of the pink poetry book with my index finger and said, "Then you're stupid. I'm a lost cause, and I'm fucking_ _done_ _talking about it." Finally, Gerald fell silent, but he didn't leave the room. He wanted to... make sure I was okay, or something equally fucking stupid, but I ignored him, hoping sleep would take me._

 _The morning after that, neither of us talked about what happened, but I could see the conversation in Gerald's eyes. I pretended like I didn't remember, and I'm pretty sure Gerald believed me, but I remembered. I remembered the whole thing._

* * *

Gerald swallowed, looking up from the book at blinking a few tears away. "He... really remembered _all_ that?" He let out a long, labored breath, rubbing at his eyes, before he muttered irritably, and melancholy, "I need a drink."


	5. Chapter 5

_I had a dream last night, which is strange. I don't usually have dreams, and when I do, they're nightmares, but last night, I was_ _happy_ _. I've haven't been happy in six years._

 _I was in the kitchen, making myself some breakfast, and my old jazz records were playing from... somewhere. There isn't a record player in the kitchen, or in the hallway, but the music surrounded me as if I was my own speaker. I was so content, and my breakfast tasted amazing. It was a huge stack of pancakes, and, although the voice and the woman behind it weren't in the dream, I remember thinking, "Eat up, Tex! You've gotta keep up your energy for the cattle drive!" My coffee wasn't bitter and the orange juice had no pulp. It was like my own little perfect world, even if I was alone._

 _Then I heard a knock at the door, and when I went to see who it was, she was there._ _She_ _was there._

 _My heart dropped and my jaw felt a little slack. Before I realized what was going on, I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes and I said, "H-Helga?" She looked just as I remembered her looking on any average day: her hands were in the pockets of her jeans, and she was wearing a short-sleeved, well-fitted pink shirt, the same color as the bow she used to wear. (In real life, she stopped wearing it in seventh grade, saying something about 'outgrowing it'. It made cameos every once in a while, like at that Halloween party, or sometimes just random days, she'd tie it in her hair, but it definitely wasn't an every day thing, like it used to be.) She looked me up and down, as if her calculating gaze was searching for wounds, but, when her search inevitably came up empty, I felt her eyes zero in on something a little_ _lower_ _than my face. My cheeks heated up in a familiar and yet foreign way, and all sorts of fantasies played out in my mind. I shook my head to get it out of the gutter. No way. She wouldn't do that, unless this were a dream._

 _But, even though I wasn't exactly_ _aware_ _at the time, it was a dream._ _Dear God_ _, it was a dream, and what a wonderful dream it was._

 _She just smiled at me and said in her wonderful, sarcastic voice, "Hiya, Football Head. How's tricks?" and I swear on all the graves of every person in the world, my soul just started soaring right out of my chest. Those five words... I hadn't heard them pieced together that way since high school, and I would've started immediately sobbing at the raw nostalgia, but before that could happen, she grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled me into a kiss._

 _That_ _kiss. The FTi, "Come here, ya big lug," kiss. The locked-in-a-closet, "I love you, Helga. Please tell me you love me, too," kiss. The kind of kiss that made my blue hat pop off my head back in fourth grade. One that almost made me faint at Rhonda's Halloween party. One that made me dizzy, one that incapacitated my movements and delayed my speech for minutes afterwards. The kind of kiss that I always craved whenever I was with her, when I hoped and prayed she would grab me by my shirt and slam me against the nearest flat surface._

 _That_ _kiss._

 _It took me what seemed like forever to react, and I thanked my subconscious for allowing me the chance to recover from the shock without waking up. I grabbed the side of her face and pulled her lips closer to me, but all that did was make our teeth clash together in a wonderfully painful way. She let me pull her across the threshold, and, because it was a perfect dream, our lips never left each other's as I coaxed her down the hall, reached up and pulled the cord to my old bedroom, and guided her up the steep wooden steps to the attic. She kept moaning in that wonderfully Helga way that I've missed so very much, and she pulled at my hair, knowing full well that that was one of my... ticks._

 _I fell backwards onto my bed, bringing her with me, and as we landed, she straddled my hips. I nibbled at her bottom lip and she gave a particularly delicious moan and moved her hands from my hair to my chest. I let my eager hands slip under her shirt and explore the body that I hadn't felt in too many years, and her skin was just as creamy and soft as I'd remembered it being._

 _I don't know how to describe, you know, what we did in words so I'll just say this: we made love. It was soft and rough at the same time, and I was able to release a passion that I hadn't even been able to conjure up in years._

 _I woke up sad, but I figured I couldn't complain. I just made dream-love to the love of my life, and the elation is_ _still_ _in my veins. I let myself be happy. I hope this means I'm getting better, but at this point, I honestly can't tell._

* * *

That last paragraph... Gerald felt his eyes begin to water, because he _didn't_ get better. He pitied past Arnold, the Arnold that tried to be optimistic for the first time in years, but didn't get the chance to live it out. Arnold always tried so hard to look on the bright side. It was one of his greatest attributes, but that attribute collapsed. There was no helping it. He was long gone before he was gone.

Gerald had to put the book aside for a moment to walk around and collect his thoughts. Even though this particular entry wasn't the saddest he'd read up until that point, it would definitely loom over him the most. The fact that Arnold really was trying to get better, but actually _couldn't_ , really clung to Gerald's heart.

When Gerald figured he'd collected himself enough to continue, he sat back down, turned the page and blinked at how messy the handwriting was. Some of it didn't follow the lines of the paper at all, and the letters were either really close together or really far a part. Gerald had a hard time believing it belonged to Arnold, but then he realized... over the years, Arnold had become an alcoholic. He was drunk when he was writing this. That thought made Gerald shudder; it wasn't a particularly _gruesome_ thought, and _creepy_ wasn't a suitable term, but there was indeed a somewhat... haunting quality to it.

* * *

 _Helga is a_ _bitch_ _. A_ _fucking bitch_ _. Now that I think about everything, I bet she didn't actually love me at all. I bet she just pretended to love me just so she could be the very fucking best out of all the kids at P.S. 118, and let me_ _fucking_ _tell you, if that was her intention, then she was spot-fucking-on. I bet she's having a jolly-old laugh at me right about now, while I'm just drunk off my ass, crying in my bed like a fucking child. I'm going to sound like the biggest bitch in the world when I write this but I really wish my grandparents were here. Even though they were both crazy, towards the end there they actually did try. I miss the fuck out of them. But having them around was like God dangling a happy ending right in front of my nose!_ _Helga and I_ _were supposed to get married!_ _We_ _were supposed to end up together; that was how it was supposed to go! That's what Grandpa said on my thirteenth birthday when Helga-the-bitch gave me a hug at my party, and that's what Helga said when we were both finally eighteen, and that's what I'm saying now! But she left me alone, and I feel so goddamn empty inside without her, and I love her so much, and I wish she'd come back, and I want her and I to be.._.

* * *

Gerald blinked a few times, squinting at the illegible handwriting and praying that it'd start to make sense, but Arnold was long gone at that point. He shook his head, and turned the page. It was the shortest entry he'd come across so far, and he actually had to snort, (cynically), as he read the two words haphazardly-scrawled on the page, showing a complete disregard to the preexisting lines.

* * *

 _fuck alcohol_

* * *

It showcased some of Arnold's humor when they were younger. (Updated language, but the same idea.) The simple, non-attention-seeking, laconic words that sounded insignificant initially, but inevitably grew funnier the more you thought about it. Words that lingered. Words that you could easily remember and think about whenever you needed a little pick-me-up. If Gerald didn't know better, he'd think that those two written words belonged to a perfectly happy frat boy after getting hammered at a party with the sister sorority.

Gerald shook his head and turned the page, despite the fact that... well, the previous entry didn't exactly take up too much space.

* * *

 _They say that some people are beyond help. They say that some people should just be left alone, for the sake of everybody. They call these people "lost causes," and I'm pretty sure I am one of them. The only problem with that is people are always talking to me and about me. They don't think I can hear them, but I can. I just pretend I don't._

 _It must've been a couple days ago. (At this point, I judge my days by how much work I have to do around the Boarding House; my sleep schedule determines shit.) I woke up at about 7 and it was still kinda dark outside, but I couldn't fall back asleep, so I figured I'd just go to the kitchen, have some coffee. Maybe force some toast down my throat._

 _But as soon as I got to the bottom of the stairs, I heard the voice of Susie Kokoschka, and she sounded pained, worried, and sad. A part of me wanted to make her feel better, another part of me was just curious as to what got her so wound up, and another part of me just wanted coffee. I knew that if I made my presence known, they'd stop talking. Everybody walks on eggshells around me, like they think I'll snap at any moment. That's really not true. I'm pretty composed, I think, and I can handle other people having crises around me. So, in order to feel like I belonged to something again, I stopped outside of the kitchen, and leaned my ear on the door._

 _"What do you think we should do? I'm getting so worried about him! I mean, I've been worrying about him every since Helga left, but now -"_

 _"As long as he starts cooking again, I'm sure we'll all be fine. Heh heh heh!"_

 _"Oskar -" I really wanted to punch Oskar's lights out for saying that, the self-absorbed fucker, and I guess I shifted my foot or something because a floorboard creaked under me. The room fell silent, and then Susie said, "Did you hear that?"_

 _"Ah, it's 7 in the morning. Poor kid's probably still sleeping," Ernie said._

 _"He's not a kid anymore, Ernie," Susie insisted. "He's almost thirty!"_

 _"Eh, he's still the same kid. He'll bounce back."_

 _"It's been six years!"_

 _"Helga was important to him. You know Arnold wears his heart on his sleeve; I wouldn't expect anything less." He sighed. "Look, I get that you're worried. I'm worried, too. Hell, you'd be surprised how often I have to take care of him when he's all tipsy and crying." I swear, if I wasn't still extremely curious as to what else they had to say about me, I would've started yelling at somebody, anybody. I just hate how they talk about me sometimes! They 'take care of me' like it's a service, but then they complain about it afterwards! I don't ever ask for anybody's help! They just give it to me, whether I want it or not, and then they treat it like I'm some sort of patient in a hospital! "I don't know how much longer it'll take, and I don't know if he'll ever fully go back to normal, but he will get better. Arnold's like a son to me. I know him. Take my word for it."_

 _I blinked at that. I never really knew how much I meant to Ernie. He told me once when I was nine that he thought of me as a son, but I thought that faded as I got older. For a while, I was under the impression that he just sort of took care of me because I own the Boarding House. Well, I don't actually do much around here, but if something happens to me, there's nobody to give it to. He'd have to move; I just always assumed that's why he was so adamant about making sure I slept in a bed and not on the living room couch._

 _"Well," Susie said slowly, "if you say so."_

 _I shit you not, there must've been a millisecond pause before Oskar said, "Fifty bucks says Arnold won't wake up until dinner time! Heh heh heh!"_

 _My blood started boiling. If I never get to punch Rachel again, I'd be more than happy to let it all out on Oskar. And I figured that I'd heard enough, from Oskar anyway, so before anybody could answer him, I pushed open the kitchen door, and glared at him. "Anything to make a dollar, huh, Kokoschka?"_

 _Everybody went silent and looked at me._

 _"Hey, Arnold," Susie said in a real soft voice, like she was waking up an infant from a nap. "How are you?"_

 _"Well," I said, folding my arms over my chest and leaning against the door frame. "I'm awake."_

 _"That's good," Susie said. I always liked Susie. She has a good head on her shoulders; way too good for Oskar, if you ask me, but ever since six years ago, the way she's treated me changed drastically. Even when I was an actual kid, she never talked down to me. She never tried to take care of me too much, unless I was sick or something and she had the day off and was in a fight with Oskar. And even then, it was in passing. I'd helped her more times than I can count; if anything, she should've respected me more than to say what she said next. "We, um. We didn't see you there. Are you hungry? I could make you some breakfast. There's coffee on, I could pour you a cup."_

 _I didn't really_ _want_ _to glare at her, but Oskar had just put me in such a bad mood, and her patronizing me didn't do anything to calm me down. If anything, it just made everything worse. "I'm twenty-nine years old, Susie. I'm capable of feeding myself."_

 _She got this panicked look in her eye and she turned to Ernie for help, saying, "Of course, but I just thought -"_

 _I shook my head. "Well. Stop it." I took a step into the kitchen. I initially was planning to just ignore all of them and just pour my own damn coffee just to show them that I knew how, but then I stopped and put my hand on my stomach. I thought for a moment. It's hard to say when you're really actually hungry and when you want to just prove to people that you're alright, but I could tell that being around other people just wasn't working for me, so I shook my head and left._

 _I used to love people so much. People are so fascinating; the way they function and interact is one of the most amazing things in the world. But once you get grouped in with the fascination, once you stop watching from above and are shoved in with the animals... it suddenly doesn't feel as special anymore. If anything, it just sort of makes you want the entire human race to just... stop._


End file.
